Gregor and the Toll of Insanity
by AuthorThatNeverWas
Summary: When Gregor finally breaks under the pressure, his loved ones will have to test their own limits to help him. I will be looking in the Reviews for where I should go with this story.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

**Part One**

**The Drug**

**Chapter**

**1**

Gregor's palm covered his left eye as he rested his head on his hand. The constant droning of his teacher was obliterated as yet another wave of anxiety crashed over him. It was a sensation that had become even more familiar to him than his rager side. He fought back the urge to snap the pencil he held in half.

Two years. It had already been two years since his final ascent from the Underland. In all that time, he had never been able to reconcile the things that had been done to him… or the things he did.

He peered up at the white board. The words swam around in his head. He had no idea what they were covering in this class. As a matter of fact, he could not even recall what class he was _in._

"Focus, Gregor," he thought to himself. "Who is the teacher?" He shifted his gaze from the unintelligible writing to the man who put it there. An old, crusty-looking guy from way down south. History.

All of a sudden, the words on the board snapped into focus. Names, dates, places… wars.

Something nagged at the back of Gregor's mind. He knew what it was, but did not let it cross his consciousness. The last thing he needed was to breakdown in the middle of class again.

As soon as the lesson ended, Gregor made his way to the cafeteria. From day one, an odd sort of pecking order had established itself at his high school in Virginia. Gregor had decided not to hide the scars that riddled his body. He had also chosen not to explain them. This had earned Gregor distrust and even animosity among the students here, which was fine with him. He figured the more distance between him and other people, the less chance anyone would get hurt.

This, however did not stop terrible things from happening. During the second week of classes, when he had witnessed some 'freshman hazing,' the upperclassmen in question wound up with some very painful bruises. This had been one of the most dangerous things that Gregor did, because he had been on the verge of simply killing them. Luckily, just as the brawl began, a faculty member had come by, bringing Gregor back to his senses. This was the first time he had ever been suspended.

As it was, Gregor sat alone at lunch every day, mechanically eating the ilk that was his food. He would occasionally receive a hateful look or even a saucy comment from one of his school-mates. These he simply ignored. In fact, they did not even register with Gregor. He had learned to keep all of his emotions in check. Except his sadness.

After lunch, Gregor made his way to Biology. This class was led by a crazy lady who loved to "surprise" her students with pop quizzes and things like that. Today, however, she sprung something on them that sent Gregor's mind reeling.

The moment Gregor set foot in the class, the unmistakable scent of formaldehyde assaulted his nostrils. A slightly sick feeling came over him, but he decided to plow on with his day and get it all over with.

"All right, kids," the crazy lady began, "today I have a special treat for you! To start our study of mammal physiology, we'll be doing a dissection. So, if you'll make your way to the lab and don your goggles, we can begin."

A hand shot up.

"Yes, Abigail?"

"What will we be dissecting?" the girl asked.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to ruin the surprise!" the lady replied.

"Of course you wouldn't…" Gregor thought.

He pushed himself out of his chair and made his way to the back of the room, where the door to the lab was located.

He made it there before everyone else, since he sat at the back of the class. He opened the door, and what awaited him inside was a number of trays with bat carcasses in them.

Gregor froze, his eyes wide, darting back and forth between the little masses of fur and chemicals. An image of blood crossed his sight, mingling in the center of a large plateau. His hand felt numb from the claw he had clenched in it so long ago. His resolve was breaking, and he did not know whether to scream or vomit. His mouth even opened, prepared to issue either.

In the end, neither happened. He simply fell to his knees as his senses were barraged with memories he wished he never had. He had finally snapped. It took two years of pent up fear and sorrow, but it had finally happened.

That sight, those bats laid out in their trays, was the last thing he remembered that day.

Everything went black.

Black like him…

Black like…

Ares.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

**Chapter**

**2**

"It is time to wake up, Gregor."

The voice was so familiar. So warm and loving. Something in it sent a stab of depression through Gregor's being. His eyes slid open, and what he saw astounded him.

He was riding on a golden bat through a dark cave with a strikingly white girl. Her piercing purple gaze seemed to burrow through his soul, cutting his heart on the way.

It was her; the one person Gregor most wanted to see. The one person who could make it all better with her mere presence. Luxa.

Gregor's eyes brimmed with tears, but not of joy. These were tears of agony.

"Why?" Gregor growled, fists clenching in anger. "Why are you doing this to me?" He spoke to no one but himself.

"Gregor, what is wrong?" Her eyes narrowed with concern. Her fingers brushed his, and he actually felt the warmth.

"Get out of my head," Gregor said softly. He could not bear this torment. "LEAVE ME ALONE!"

He swept his arm across her face, dispersing the illusion. His senses went wild, flashing lights, ringing noises, noxious smells. Finally, everything settled down and his vision cleared to the reveal the ceiling of a hospital room.

"Wha-," he began.

"Gregor!" A small girl landed on him, the embrace sending a wave of pain through his aching body.

"Lizzie?" he said. The girl pulled back and nodded. It was her. A painfully thin ten year old girl whose eyes, among other things, betrayed her meekness.

Gregor looked past his little sister to see the rest of his family. His mother, smiling and stroking the big purple scar that still hadn't gone away. His dad, who was staring at him intensely, presumably ready to call the nurse should his condition worsen. And Boots. His baby sister still looked uncertain, but managed a little grin.

"You okay now, Gregor?" she inquired.

He faked a lively expression, solely for his family's sake. "Yeah. I'm a lot better with you guys here," he lied.

"Come on, Liz," his dad said, "give him some space." Lizzie hopped off the bed and sidled back, not breaking her gaze from her big brother.

"Oh, my baby," his mother stepped forward as if she couldn't contain herself any longer and grabbed his hand.

"Hey, mom."

"Hey." She gave him a reassuring smile.

"So, what happened?" Gregor asked. He was itching to know exactly what had happened back there.

She exchanged nervous glances with his dad. "Gregor," she said. "The doctor… well, he… he said that…"

"Mom!" Gregor snapped. "Just tell me!"

She stared at him, somewhat stunned. "He said you had a nervous breakdown, but sweetie, this one was different."

Gregor looked at her with apprehension. "In what way?" He had had a few breakdowns before now. Mostly just a couple minutes of him blankly glaring at a spot on the wall, reliving the horrors of what had happened.

"He said," his dad began, "that he's only ever seen this kind of thing in veterans."

Gregor let that revelation sink in. A bitter taste filled his mouth. Then, not knowing how to express his emotions, he scoffed. "Pretty fitting, isn't it?"

His dad shot his mom a look, and she nodded. "Girls, how about we go get something to eat? Give Gregor a moment of peace."

She took his sisters' hands and began guiding them out of the room. Gregor heard Boots say "is daddy coming?"

"No, baby. He's gonna talk with Gregor," his mom replied.

The two sat in silence, Gregor staring down at his covers and his father watching him tentatively.

"Hey, kiddo," he said. "I know what you're feeling. I know that it hurts. Worst of all, it never gets any better. But I've learned that, with people to lean on, you can find the strength to get past it all. Learn to live with the hurt, confide in the people you love, things like that."

Every word made Gregor sicker and sicker. Sick of all the asinine emotions that rolled through his stomach, leaving essentially nothing behind. He wished he could make it all go away. Everything he saw reminded Gregor of the Underland. The clock on the wall, like the one he gave to Mrs. Cormaci. The glass of the window, like the windows of the palace hospital. And worst of all, his dad. The first time he fell, he had rescued his dad, witnessing horrible acts of betrayal and murder in the process.

Gregor caught himself wondering if his dad had been worth the trouble he caused. The instant after that, he panicked. What were those thoughts doing in his head? How could he possibly think his dad was worthless? Why would-

The hospital door opened, and Gregor's heart skipped a beat. He jumped, body seizing for a split second. A flash of fear crossed his dad's countenance. It was only the nurse.

"I came to check up on you. Oh, you're awake! Do either of you need anything?" she asked. The two shook their heads.

It was not until she had done her routine checks and left that Gregor noticed the catheter, as well as the saline drip, that was hooked up to him.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked.

"About four days," his dad said slowly.

Four days! How had that happened? "So," Gregor said calmly, "I was in a coma? Why? Was it all because of my breakdown?"

"That's what the doctor thinks. He said you'll probably need an antidepressant…" his dad said.

Gregor scowled. "Of all the stupid…" he started, but was interrupted by his father's hand on his shoulder. Gregor felt his body tense at the contact. He had the urge to draw the sword that was not there.

"You need to keep calm, Gregor. Now's not the time to fight. You know that."

The words only served to exacerbate Gregor's unease.

There was a long period of silence before his dad spoke up. "Your mother and I have been talking, but we wanted to ask you first." Gregor looked up at him. "Do you think… if you were to go back down there for a few days…" Gregor's eyes narrowed.

"I know what you're thinking," he said, "and no. It wouldn't help. Not unless you're willing to either come down there with me and stay, or just leave me forever. I could never leave twice. We both know that." A memory sparked to life in Gregor's head. Hamnet. Hadn't he said something similar to Luxa in the jungle?

A fresh wave of anxiety washed over him.

"So…" he began, "PTSD, huh?"

His dad's expression became pained. It was clear he did not want to reply – to confirm the fear that Gregor harbored – but he forced himself. "Yeah. But, Gregor, we can get through this. You know that."

The trouble was, he didn't. Gregor thought about all of the hurt that was already in his chest. He had found no good way to relieve that pressure, and it just kept building. He realized that it would be impossible to carry on like this, even with the support of his family. Maybe even _because _of his family. They were the most vivid reminders of the horror that had unfolded so far below New York.

But he could never say that outright to them. They wouldn't understand. They would freak out, at best.

The pain built further when he realized the magnitude of his family's torment. This was unbearable. He couldn't go on. He wanted it all to stop – _needed _it to stop. But how could he stop it?

A wild idea came to him from the depths of his desperation. An idea so preposterous, he rejected it out of hand. He could never leave his family like that. They would not forgive him for it.

But he _had _to do something about this. The question was, what?

An option presented itself to him that he had never considered, mostly because he did not think it was possible.

Buried beneath what seemed like miles of anxiety and fear, Gregor's rager sensation hummed quietly. With an unconscious sort of sentience, it offered him an out. A way of handling the pain so that he would never have to feel it again. Never have to feel _anything_ again.

He bathed himself in the rage, letting it wash away all other emotions, and with them, the pain. Then, when all the hurt had been flushed away, the rage subsided as well, lying dormant until Gregor needed it.

In its wake, there was… nothing.

Sweet, silent nothing.

**Well, there you go.**

**Still don't know what to do for the long haul.**

**I'll be looking for ideas in the reviews!**

**Have a good one.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

**Chapter**

**3**

Gregor lay on his back in the shade of a tall tree. He had recently taken to this during lunch period. He would shovel down his food and just walk outside. It was better than having to deal with the noise of the cafeteria.

He studied the clouds passing by overhead. In the Underland, the clouds had been the last thing on his mind. In a way, they still were. He simply stared unfeelingly at the shifting masses of wet fluff as they drifted along at the behest of the winds.

Gregor closed his eyes, almost nodding off until he heard three boys approaching from the direction of the cafeteria. The noise of the grass being disturbed by their feet alerted him to their exact size and temperature. His echolocation was still good, at least.

He kept his eyes closed even as they stopped right next to him. There was a large one, a small one, and one somewhere in between. The in-between guy seemed to be leading the other two, almost as if they were a gang.

"What's wrong, Gregor?" the small one said sarcastically. "Why don't you go in there and join all those friends you don't have?"

The other two chuckled at this amazing insult. Gregor suppressed the urge to scoff.

"Hey, maybe we should find him a dead bat. Make him faint again!" The big one said.

"No need to be rude, man." The leader said. He returned his focus to Gregor. "We thought you looked lonely, so we decided to, y'know, _hang out_ with ya."

"That right?" Gregor asked. "Don't you have an image to maintain? Why would you three want to tarnish that by being around someone like me? We all know I'd make you look bad." He opened one eye and peered at the three as their expressions shifted. "Or are you not the village idiots you make yourselves look like?"

They were still smiling, but not as wide.

"Now that wasn't very nice, Greggy-boy." The leader knelt down, bringing his face close to Gregor's. "Why don't you say it again?"

"Gladly." Gregor launched to his feet, nearly head-butting the leader on the way up. The three flinched. "You three don't scare me. You're just a bunch of petty jackasses who don't _measure up,_" he tweaked his pinky, "so you take it out on me." Gregor lifted his arms to his side. "So go ahead. Take out your frustrations."

"You little bitch!" The big one took a swing, which Gregor easily blocked. He stepped back and kept an eye on his three opponents. They flanked him, and Gregor felt some hope. Maybe they weren't _completely _stupid.

They all came at him at once. Gregor mostly dodged and blocked the assault, but he could feel the rage welling up inside him. It was strange; this was the first emotion he had felt in two weeks.

It dawned on him: since he had used the rager side to eradicate his emotions, anger was all he _could_ feel anymore. If he were able, Gregor would have felt fear and worry.

The rage engulfed him as a kick came seriously close to his face. All he could do was watch as his limbs became instruments of torment. He hammered the three boys into submission with quick, imperceptible strikes.

Finally, someone caught him from behind and put him in a hold. Gregor almost flipped the mystery person, but the grip was strong. He could feel his rager side subsiding, and he realized that the person holding him was Mr. Langford, the track coach.

"Gregor, what the hell are you doing!?" he shouted.

Gregor could not respond, mostly because of the hold but also because the anger wasn't gone yet. When it finally disappeared, he went slack and nearly blacked out.

"Hey, hey, hey!" the coach said. "Keep it together, Gregor!"

He was half carried into the school. He could feel dozens of eyes on him, dozens of voices relaying their own stories as to what had happened outside. The trip was a blur until he heard the sharp voice of the principal in his left ear.

"Explain," she said shortly.

Gregor heard three other voices crop up immediately, accusatory tones from each. He lifted his head in time to see the principal raise her hand, silencing the three boys. He finally got a good look at the gang of misfits he had pummeled. It was bad, but not bad enough.

Gregor shook his head vigorously, trying to get rid of the murderous thoughts in his mind.

The same hand that had quieted the others came down to point at Gregor.

"You. Explain."

He had no words. Nothing to say to this person who was glaring at him venomously. He locked his eyes on his shoes and steeled his face.

She sighed and motioned for everyone else to leave. One of the delinquents looked like he wanted to protest, but a single glance from the principal stopped him up.

Once they were alone, the two simply stood there for a long while.

"What happened, Gregor?" she finally said. "I've never had so much trouble from you. What did they do?"

"Nothing," Gregor said. He had no intention of prolonging this conversation.

"Did they attack first?" she asked.

He did not reply.

"They did, didn't they?"

Nothing.

"Gregor, I can't help you if you don't pipe up! Come on, I'm just trying to-" she stopped short. "Oh, Gregor."

Her hand came up to brush a tear from his cheek. The contact made him jumped. He almost slapped her hand away. The strain had been too much for his mind. He had cried from the sheer amount of hatred.

After another moment of stillness and silence, she spoke. "You know I can't condone this, Gregor. I'm afraid I may have to expel you."

Gregor tried to feel outrage. Injustice. Fear. Anything. He could not. He simply met the principal's eyes and held her gaze. She seemed sad and uneasy. "I understand," he said.

She looked concerned, almost as if this were the last thing she expected to hear.

Gregor's mother was talking. Words were definitely being said, some less friendly than others. His father chimed in here and there, too. None of it made it to his brain. He could see Lizzie and Boots peering in at him from the living room. He could not meet their eyes.

After a long pause, he heard his mother sigh deeply. He had caused her undue stress. He should feel bad about it. Horrible, even. But he didn't.

"What will we do now?" she said.

"I don't know, Grace." His dad replied. He looked terrible. Almost as bad as the day they brought him out of the Underland. His sickness was gone, but sometimes the frailty came back.

Gregor had thought about this since he saw that bat on the science table. No, since he left the Underland.

"I don't belong here," he said. "But I don't belong down there either. Wherever I go, I cause suffering. Everything I do, I end up destroying something. Hell, I even 'killed' myself back in the arena." He met his parents' gazes. Even as the words formed in his mind, he knew he should never utter them. But they surfaced of their own accord. He had no control over the words that left his mouth next. Like he didn't know the pain they would cause.

"Maybe I should do it for real."

**As it happens, this chapter wasn't as good as the previous. But hey, you know how it is.**

**I think I have an idea of what to do next. I am still open for suggestions, though.**

**Hope you enjoyed. Run like the river, yo.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

**Chapter**

**4**

Gregor massaged his temple, trying to rid himself of the headache that had cropped up a few days ago. How stupid could you get? He knew they did not have the money for this. Yet, here they were, waiting in the reception area for a shrink to call him in. Why had he made that crack about suicide? Idiot…

His mom kept staring at him, as if he would decide to off himself right then and there. He wish she would stop. Her gaze was beginning to make him fidgety. His dad just glared at the floor. He had not said much after that little episode. Barely moved, even. Lizzie was at home, recuperating from the shock. Boots looked around, on the brink of comprehension. Gregor still could not look at her.

He had apologized several times. But apologies were not what his family needed. What they needed was assurance that their brother and son would stay with them in the world of the living. Something he could not give them.

He took stock of the reception area. There was a lady sitting behind a desk, pecking out commands on a keyboard. Plants were sprinkled here and there. Another man with circles under his eyes sat in the corner. The placed smelled like… despair.

The door to the shrink's room opened, releasing a middle-aged woman whose eyes flitted around with uncertainty.

"Gregor?" called a voice from within.

Gregor pushed himself to his feet and made his way toward the room. He caught sight of his mother starting to stand. He met her gaze and shook his head.

"I'll be alright, mom," he said, faking a smile. She did not seem reassured.

Gregor expected to see one of those weird couches, like in the movies. He was disappointed. Instead, there was a desk, a few comfortable-looking chairs, and even more plants.

"Wouldn't you prefer to have your parents in here with you?" the shrink asked, showing concern.

Gregor scoffed. "What do I look like, a kid?"

The shrink furrowed his eyebrows. Apparently, that was exactly what Gregor looked like.

"Have a seat," he said, indicating one of the chairs. Gregor plopped down onto it. He rested his elbow on the armrest and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he looked at the shrink, he saw on the desk a plaque that stated a name. 'Dr. Mallard.'

Gregor surprised the shrink by being the first to speak: "So, Dr. Mallard," he began, "Explain something to me: Why'd my parents decide to bring me to an '_adult' _psychiatrist?"

Mallard was silent for a moment, then steeled his face. "They apparently thought that your troubles were too big for a counselor, or some such."

Gregor nodded. "Makes sense." He peered around the room. Nothing interesting stuck out to him. "So now what? You say words, and I pretend to listen?"

Another pause. "Pretty much." Mallard slumped a bit, obviously under a bit of stress himself. He sighed. "I can't pretend to understand your problems. Those scars on your ankles say that much, at least."

Gregor impulsively pulled his feet back. "You saw?" he asked, more passively than anything.

"Of course I did," Mallard replied, "they stick out like a sore thumb. Who are you trying to fool, anyway?" A little smile played on the shrink's lips. "No one had to drag you in here, so I think you want help. Even if you don't know it." He locked eyes with Gregor. "So, let's hear it. What's your plan?"

Gregor's eye twitched. Ripred. The big rat had said the exact same words so long ago. The headache attacked with full force. He clenched his eyes shut, riding out the storm. But it did not abate. The pain kept ramping up as more and more images of the Underland surfaced in his mind.

He felt his shoulder being shaken and the world snapped back into focus. Mallard was beside him, giving him a stern, uncertain look.

"Where did you go, Gregor?" he said.

Gregor was frozen for a moment, then his head collapsed into his hands as tears came to his eyes. He was not sad; he was incapable of it. He was just… angry.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Sorry, doc, but you're no help to me." Gregor fought his way to his feet, but fell right back into it as vertigo gripped his innards.

Mallard's hands helped steady Gregor's descent. "I think I am. And I think I would. I can't help you if you don't pipe up, Gregor."

A fresh wave of agony bathed Gregor's head. He had heard that before. Not long ago. The principal.

Wrong. It was all wrong. He should not be hearing these things! He should not be here with this shrink! He should not have gotten expelled! He should be a normal 14 year old…

Except he _wasn't _normal. He _did_ get expelled. He _was _here. And he _had _heard. He heard all he needed to hear. The only way this guy would know what his principal had said is if they were… _coordinating_ this!

That was it. They were plotting against him… They knew what he had done, where he had been, and they wanted him dead.

He stiffened. He could not show the shrink that he knew. He needed to stay alive. He needed to get out of here; get his family out of here. But how?

Gregor took on an aloof demeanor. "I'm fine. So is that all for today?"

Mallard seemed skeptical. "We've barely started," he said. "You still have another twenty-five minutes."

"That's fine." Gregor stood slowly. "I don't think you're what I need."

The shrink inspected the floor with a sort of dejected thoughtfulness. "Maybe you're right." The statement was not submissive, but contemplative. "Very well, Gregor. It was nice meeting you." His hand came up for a shake.

Gregor flinched, but quickly recollected his composure and took Mallard's offer.

On their way out of the reception area, Gregor's mother lagged behind. He peered back in time to see the shrink slip his mother a small piece of paper.

**Sorry for the wait, guys. I have this thing about not continuing after the third chapter of a story. Meh. Oh well, here's the fourth, ja? So I know where to go now. But, I'd still like to hear your suggestions. Fly you High… but not **_**too**_** high.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

**Chapter**

**5**

Gregor's feet drummed against the pavement. Running was pretty much the only way to get some alone time anymore. His parents were obviously skeptical about letting him wander off in times like this, but what could they do?

Gregor paused at a stoplight for a breather. As he stood there, feeling his heart steady, he caught the eye of a cute girl walking alongside her mother. She was about his age, he figured.

Gregor had the odd urge to smirk at her, but fought it back as a wave of sickness engulfed his stomach. A slew of images attacked his senses. Luxa. What would she say? She'd probably get all moody if she caught him checking out other girls.

He shook his head, confused. Why was he worried? It's not like he'd ever see her again.

But that was just it; he wanted nothing more than to see his Underland friends again. He peered down the road. Central Park was only a few blocks from here. He could easily slip under the stone and…

Gregor turned and jogged back home. Underland? Fat chance.

Gregor pushed the door open into his house. The first thing he saw was his father asleep on the couch. The man had looked tired for the past few days. Gregor got the distinct feeling that that was his fault.

He walked into the kitchen and plopped down into one of the seats at the table. His mind wandered back to the girl he saw. What was his problem? Every little thing brought back fresh memories of the events that took place below the city.

Gregor sat there thinking for a long while before finally picking up the bottle on the table. He wasn't quite sure what these pills were, but he had shot down his mother's attempts to get him to take them.

He contemplated taking them now. Hell, he had already eradicated his emotions with pure rage. Maybe a few antidepressants would help. He read the directions on the bottle carefully. No point dying on accident.

He fished out one of the tablets and poured a glass of water from the sink. He caught himself waiting for the pipes to clean out, sneered, and filled a cup. After a moment of glaring down at the unassuming pill, he tossed it back and took a draught of water.

The war raged on. Anger fighting ferociously with complacency. Gregor stood in the middle of the fray, feeling the force of every blow. Pain wracked his entire being. He could feel himself begging for the release of death, but neither party obliged. In fact, both seemed to be keeping him alive solely for the torment he now endured.

What was this? Was it the medicine? Or was it simply his own halves tearing away from one another? He did not know. He knew very little in these moments.

From the barren south came another army. His other emotions had banded together to take back his mind. Gregor realized that the only way to be free was to fight as well. But who would he ally himself to? Anger? Contentment? Or perhaps love and sadness…

The indecision exacerbated his pain. He collapsed into a mental ball and tried to wait it out. Hopefully the drug would leave his system soon. But when he looked at the clock in the kitchen, it had stopped. Time wasn't moving… Or was it going faster? Time was running out… _tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick…_

"Gregor!" He couldn't tell who had called his name, but he dragged his gaze down. It took what felt like days, but his eyes finally stopped on his mother's face. Her expression was one of fear and anxiety.

He tried to answer, tell her he needed help, but no sound escaped. He simply stared at her with a blank face, unable to express the anguish that he felt.

He stood and patted her shoulder. Was he reassuring her? He didn't know.

He brushed past her and made for the door. Before he could open it, a hand caught his wrist. He turned to see his father, stern and sad. But his expression changed when he saw Gregor's soulless eyes. Exasperation caused his father to step back and freeze in place. He had never seen his son so dead inside.

Gregor turned back to the door and threw it open. He trotted down the stairs, then sprinted as the outside air reached his lungs.

**Well this is embarrassing.**

**Sorry for… Well, it wasn't a "wait" so much as a complete disregard of my responsibilities.**

**Thank you for reading. I'll **_**try **_**to pump these out quicker.**

**This is the end of the first part. Two more left! You ready?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

**Part Two**

**The Pain**

**Chapter**

**6**

He ran. He ran faster and longer than he thought possible. He ran from thirty miles inland all the way to the Atlantic Ocean. Once his feet hit the rocky eastern shore, Gregor stopped.

He simply stared out at the massive body of water. The light of the moon framed the horizon in a way that didn't seem quite right, but also more beautiful than the sun could ever hope to.

The antidepressant had left his system ten miles ago, but he hadn't stopped. Why would he? There was nothing to stop for.

He stood there for what seemed like forever until he saw the lights of an approaching car. He turned to see his family's dinky car pull into a nearby flat area. They all got out. All four of them where here. Lizzie looked sullen and quieted. Boots was still somewhat confused, but I could tell she was starting to understand. Gregor's dad couldn't meet his son's eyes. His mother had tears streaming down her face.

The sight only reinforced his feeling of helplessness. He had caused his family to suffer. The one thing he had fought so hard against two years ago was something he was _causing_ at this very moment.

Gregor turned his back to his family and stared out at the endless ocean. His family joined him, standing to either side, watching the tide roll lazily in and out. Not a word was spoken. Not even Boots had anything to say.

"I'm so sorry, Gregor," his mother said, voice wavering.

"Don't be," Gregor replied honestly. "I chose to take that stuff on my own."

"Yeah, but if I hadn't- "

Gregor wheeled around and grabbed his mother. She yelped, but was surprised to have Gregor pull her into a tight embrace.

"My turn," Gregor began. "I'm so sorry, Mom. Everyone." Tears stained his cheeks as he spoke, real tears this time. The war had ended with a stalemate, and all his emotions had returned, a bit more sensitive now.

The pain was back too, but it was nothing compared to the agony Gregor had seen in the faces of the ones he loved. When he ran, he had made a decision. He would fight through the pain, together with his family. No matter what.

The others joined the hug, creating a tight mass of warmth that lifted Gregor's spirits, if only a little.

He got into the car with his family, and they rode home in silence. Gregor was never leaving them like that again.

Luxa sat in the pitch black room, hands bound behind her back. She strained to see her captor, who was pacing the room. Unfortunately, the echolocation lessons provided by her bond Ripred where proving ineffective.

She would issue a saucy comment were it not for the leather gag in her mouth.

"I never know what to do in situations like this…" a thin, sinister voice said. "Torture seems inappropriate, but how else will I extricate the information I need?"

It was definitely female. Cold and calculating, with a hint of condescension. Luxa tried to recognize the voice; it was a tad familiar. It was too dissimilar, however, for her to make an accurate guess.

"Ah, well. I suppose there is no other option. Come on in, dear. I need your assistance."

A door somewhere behind me opened, releasing light into the tiny cell. The woman was smart enough to stay behind Luxa so as not to be seen.

Another voice joined the first, this one far more familiar.

"So, have we decided on a more _persuasive_ interrogation?"

"We have," the first voice stated simply. "Light the torch, and reveal yourself to her."

A striking sound issued from a piece of flint the second voice carried. Luxa did not need to see the face of the witch before she knew who it was.

The second interrogator removed the gag and stepped into Luxa's line of sight.

"I knew it would be you, you slithering whore!" Luxa shouted.

"Now now, no need to be so rude," Stellovet said. "Is it not only natural that I should be Queen? Do not worry, _cousin._ I promise your death will be quick, but only if you tell us where you hid the Prophecy of the Sovereign."

"Not a chance." Luxa steeled her face. "What have you done with Howard? Have you killed _him _too?"

Stellovet rolled her eyes. "Of course not. What good would that do me? He has no idea how far my web stretches. Besides, even if he tried to stop me, he would never succeed." She held the torch dangerously close to Luxa. "Now, I'll ask you again: where is the Prophecy of the Sovereign?"

Luxa spat directly into Stellovet's left eye. She squeaked in surprise and stepped back. Luxa laughed hysterically.

"Oh, you arrogant-"

"Stellovet," the first voice placated. "That's enough. Let _me_ speak to her."

Stellovet stepped back, peering fearfully at the figure who still stood concealed behind Luxa.

"When the rats attacked the palace, the wooden door to the prophecy room was damaged. In all the commotion, no one bothered to so much as repair the door, much less check it for hidden prophecies. As it turns out, though, perhaps the most important prophecy of them all lay hidden in the wood. One would think that a great seer might leave such a revelation out in the open. Nonetheless, it is rumored to detail the exact duties of the king or queen of Regalia, and also the bloodlines that are required to lead. Rumored, because once the queen saw the prophecy, she sealed it away and never spoke of it again. What was so earth-shattering that the most open queen in a hundred years would conceal one of Sandwich's prophecies? Perhaps an inconvenient foretelling of the coming change in leadership? Either way, only you stand between us and rulership of Regalia. All we need it the Prophecy. And we _will _get it from you one way or another. After all, I know all of your weaknesses, my queen. Or should I say, my granddaughter?"

Solovet stepped into the firelight, revealing a hideously scarred face and empty eye socket. Her voice became that same false sweetness that had wormed its way into Luxa's mind for twelve years.

"Hello my dearest. How have you been?"

**So, to apologize for the stupid amount of time I neglected this, I wrote TWO chapters!**

**Don't you feel special?**

**I also hope you don't might my perspective switching. I need to tell a parallel story here. More to come! Eventually! Maybe…**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

* * *

**Chapter**

**7**

* * *

Gregor laid in bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it swirled in its lazy circle. He tried to follow one blade in particular, the one that was a little off center. He found this to be impossible, so he simply gazed at the tile behind the spinning blades.

It was so quiet in Virginia. There was no rattling, ambient noise, or light for that matter. No cars whizzing by his window at all hours of the night. No screaming drunk people stumbling down the sidewalk. Nothing.

The smell bothered him, too. It was so… _clean_ out here in the middle of nowhere. It had been refreshing at first, but became tiresome and mundane. At least in New York, you might smell something different now and again.

Gregor heaved himself out of bed and sauntered into the living room. Lizzie was sitting on the couch with Boots, playing some game Boots had no doubt just made up.

Gregor peered out the window to catch a glimpse of the morning sun shining bright to the east. He let the warm light bathe him for a moment before heading into the kitchen.

His father sat at the table starring intensely at a chessboard. It appeared that he had begun a game against himself and was planning his next move. Or his next _five_.

Gregor plopped down across from his father and watched as the gears turned in the thin man's head.

"Saturday?" Gregor asked. He had stopped keeping up with days since he had gotten expelled. Usually, his father would have gone to the school by now.

"Yup." His dad sneered and moved a white pawn up two spaces. A weak move.

"Oh, c'mon Dad. You can do better," Gregor chided. He grabbed a black knight and took the bishop his father had left open.

His father tweaked an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" He moved another pawn into position, compromising Gregor's knight.

The match lasted a good twenty minutes from that point. It was a close battle, but eventually Gregor's dad won out.

"You're getting a whole lot better at this, kiddo," he said, a hint of smugness to his voice.

Gregor smiled. "Yeah, well I'll win next time!" He stopped cold, realizing that he was smiling for the first time in at least a month. He saw a deeply content expression on his dad's face.

"We could go again right now, if you're feeling so lucky."

Gregor shook his head. "Nah. I gotta help Lizzie and Boots set up the tent, remember. And with _me _doing it, that'll be an all-day job."

"You sure you don't need my help with that? It'd go a lot faster."

"I promised Boots that I'd do it. You know how she is with that kind of stuff. She's way too literal." Gregor said.

"Yeah, I guess." As Gregor stood to head out of the kitchen, his dad caught his wrist. "Oh, and Gregor? I'm glad to see you happy again."

Gregor couldn't contain another smile. "Yeah. Me too."

* * *

Hazard cocked his head, trying to make out the odd noises the poor creature was issuing. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to learn the language of the Spitters. He reached out and stroked the thing's excessively long, furry neck and spoke to it in his most soothing voice;

"I'm sorry, llama friend. I can't understand you, but I may be able to get a translator. Would you be open to waiting a few moments?"

The llama huffed impatiently, but nodded its head.

Hazard turned and jogged across the arena to his bond, Apollo.

"Do me a favor, Apollo," he said to the somewhat skinny golden bat. "Go get… uh… Oh, what's her name?"

"Riftwell?" Apollo supplied.

"Ah, thank you! Yes, Riftwell. She should be in the code room with Ripred." Hazard nodded.

"I don't think they'll take the interruption well." Apollo groaned.

"I know. Sorry, but we have to finish this trade deal with the spitters if we're gonna have enough marble for the new expansion, and Riftwell is the only rat I know who can speak to them."

Apollo dipped his head in agreement. "Very well. I will be back soon." He launched into the air and sped off towards the palace.

"Thank you!" Hazard called after him. Once Apollo disappeared from sight, Hazard pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to relieve the pressure in his skull. Ever since Luxa went missing, the trade responsibilities had landed on the nine-year-old's shoulders, and it was doing him no favors.

Once he regained his composure, Hazard turned and walked back to the spitter entourage. Thinking back on it, Hazard couldn't help but question Vikus's decisions on the division of labor. The old man himself would make a far better negotiator. Mareth had been placed in control of the military, Howard was the chief medical officer, and Nerissa was placed as acting queen. Even Dulcet had been given the honorary title of "Head of Internal Affairs." Hazard had no idea what that meant.

After a short while of effectively beating his head against a brick wall, Hazard caught sight of Apollo laboring under the weight of the generously proportioned rat Riftwell. As Apollo alighted, the gnawer slid off his back and approached Hazard and the llamas, making them even more anxious.

"What, what, _what_ is so important that you would drag me away from my sweet Ripred in his time of grieving? Haven't you just lost your queen? You really ought to get your priorities in order, pup!" she complained.

Hazard shook his head. Grieving? Ripred barely cared that Luxa was gone. "Oh, she'll be fine," he had said. "She _is _a primary character after all."

Riftwell tapped her foot. "Well? Spit it out, boy. I don't have all day."

So Hazard began explaining the situation to the big rat. But before he could finish, Apollo's head shot up. Hazard snapped to attention. "What is it?"

"Theseus. He comes with grave news" Apollo moaned.

From a nearby cave, a teal-colored bat erupted forth. "Master Hazard! Master Hazard, you must listen!" He shouted, fluttering up to the boy. "It is terrible! Simply terrible! We must prepare! Oh, we are just not ready!"

Hazard grabbed the bat's shoulders and calmed him. "It's all right, Theseus. Now, tell me what you found."

After he caught his breath, the bat looked into Hazard's eyes, fear spilling out of him like a flooded river.

"The cutters, Master Hazard. They have begun their advance toward the Fount. And once they are done there, they will strike here."

"The Underland is in danger!"

* * *

**It's starting to get good!**

**So two questions for you guys:**

**Who do you want for the perspective swap for next chapter?**

**And do you want the two storylines to intertwine? (In other words, do you want Gregor to fall, or to stay where he is?)**

**It's all up to you!**

**Hell, we could have Gregor running through the woods. Y'know, from Shia LeBouf?**

**My goodness, I just realized that this format doesn't keep my dividers... Wow, that sucks.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

**Chapter**

**8**

Gregor stood and wiped the sweat from his brow. The drastic change in climate when moving from New York to Virginia was certainly taking its toll now. He peered down at his handiwork and shook his head. A tangled mass of fabric and plastic sat before him, not quite resembling a tent yet.

Lizzie held the instruction manual in front of her brother's face for the umpteenth time. "No, Gregor. You have to pull the stick thing through _that _hole," she chided.

"Yeah, I get it, Liz. But it's easier said than done." Gregor knelt down yet again and began fretting with the jumbled mess.

Their mother poked her head out of the back door. "Kids, lunch is ready!"

Lizzie stood and looked at her brother expectantly. "Tell her I'll be I'll be in in a second."

She hesitated, but gave a quick nod and trotted away.

This had become routine. Whenever Gregor began a task, no matter how mundane, he absolutely _had_ to finish it. A week prior, he had set to work on a block of wood, trying to carve some sort of doodad on a whim. He had been at it for seven hours straight when his mother ripped the unfinished figure from his hand, nearly cutting herself with his knife in the process. From that point on, she would only let him work on it for an hour a day.

The doodad was almost finished. It was turning out to be some sort of animal… or something. Gregor had decided to give it to Lizzie when he finished, and wanted to start one for Boots, too. He would definitely make it an animal of some kind… maybe.

Someone was shaking his shoulder. "Gregor! Are you alright, kiddo? C'mon, your lunch is gonna get cold." It was his dad.

Gregor looked down at the tent. It was perfect. Not a stick thingy out of place. He felt the rager sensation thrum quieter within him. He shook his head. This had happened several times now. Whenever he devoted himself to an activity, he raged, which caused his efficiency to skyrocket.

"Not bad, Gregor," his dad said, giving him a thumbs up. "But if you don't come in, your mother will strangle us both."

"Right." Gregor walked astride his father and went to join the family.

Ripred lazed in the center of the octagonal code room. Intrusive Apollo had swept in not five minutes ago and spirited his dear Riftwell away. What a travesty! How dare the foolish bat.

Ripred grumbled under his breath as he awaited Lovely Riftwell's return. He reflected over the past few days. Old Vikus had handled the whole "Queen-Luxa-disappears-into-thin-air" thing quite well, considering. He immediately began a search crew, which he headed, and assigned the various duties to humans who even Ripred himself could not have chosen better.

Ripred's thoughts were interrupted by the smell of Fretting Aurora. The beautiful gold bat fluttered in and gave a grave look to Ripred. "What now?" Ripred demanded.

"War looms." Aurora said, offering her back to the rat. Without a second thought, Ripred climbed aboard and was carried out over Regalia to the arena.

Dearest Dulcet, Militant Mareth, Healthy Howard, Helpful Hazard, Aggravating Apollo, a random teal bat, and a bunch of llamas were clustered at the center of the large, mossy zone.

"What's the word, kiddies?" Ripred said, hopping off of Aurora. "Also, why the spitters?"

"The spitters are here for trade talks." Hazard said. "Tell him what you told us, Theseus."

The teal bat, Theseus, fidgeted a moment before speaking. "Forgive me, master rat. Uh, if I may… er, that is to say, _may_ I…? Er?..."

Ripred snapped his jaw at Stuttering Theseus. "Out with it, or out with your throat."

"Oh! Yes, uh, the Cutters are on the move. They advance on the Fount, but will not stop there. They plan to eradicate warm-bloods in general. They have already laid siege to the Nibbler colonies, but the citizens were able to escape mostly intact."

"Always the Nibblers… Where are they now?" Ripred asked.

"They have sought refuge at the Fount, but that will not be viable for long."

"How long until they reach the Fount?" Mareth chimed in.

"By my estimate, four or five days at most. Then, two weeks until they are upon us." Theseus replied.

"Thank you, Theseus," Dearest Dulcet said. "Go to Ariadne. She waits in your cave."

"Oh, many thanks, Dulcet. Many thanks." The bat dipped his head and launched away.

"Well, this is a right pickle we're in, isn't it?" Lovely Riftwell blurted into the silence.

Ripred went right into wartime mode. "Alright, we gotta move fast. The Fount certainly know the situation, but their standing army is woefully small for an invasion this size. Mareth, send Third and Fourth divisions to the Fount as fast as their bats can carry them. Tell them to do what they need, but no longer than two hours. They will likely no return, but this is what they signed up for." Mareth nodded and jogged off, no doubt to rendezvous with his own bat.

"Dulcet, find Vikus. I don't care where he is or what he's doing, he's needed here and now."

"Yes, of course." Dulcet sprinted toward the entrance of the arena, close behind Mareth.

"Howard, inform your staff to get as much rest as they can. The next month is going to be brutal." Howard grunted in agreement, but stayed for the time.

"Hazard, send the llamas home and communicate with every head of species you can. Get as many able bodies on our side as you can. We'll need far more than one army. Riftwell, you're with me."

"Ooh, I like this take-charge Ripred. Where are we off to?" Lovely Riftwell asked.

Ripred grinned as Hazard and Howard peered at him with questioning eyes. "We're going home, my sweet. We're gonna build an army of our own."

So I suppose I should explain; I took some artistic liberty. Instead of just referring to a person with their name, I thought it would be interesting for Ripred to add an honorific of sorts to distinguish his subjects.

That's about it. Until next-…

What? You thought I was going to explain why this chapter took so long?

Pfft, Haha, no.

(College did it.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

**Chapter**

**9**

The chilled air of nighttime invaded the little tent in the backyard of Gregor's house. To any local resident of Virginia, it was a cold autumn night. To Gregor himself, however, it was actually quite mild. Any time spent in the winters of the north will do that.

He and his sisters sat in the relatively limited space of the tent, trying and failing to make shadow puppets with a flashlight.

"No, Gregor. Like this!" Lizzie put her hand in the shape of an elephant. Gregor attempted to mimic the shape, but surprisingly lacked the dexterity for it.

_You'd think with all that sword training…,_ he caught himself thinking. He figured that was a good sign; being able to make light of his past.

"Sorry, Liz. My hands just aren't that flexible."

"It's not a matter of flexion, Gregor," Lizzie said flatly.

"Well, _duh _Lizzie. Everybody knows that!" Gregor's voice dripped with sarcasm. Lizzie elbowed him, smiling.

Gregor looked over at Boots, who seemed to be hesitating. Her big eyes fixed on Gregor before she put up her hands in some odd shape. It was winged, Gregor could tell. Beyond that…

"Ares," Boots said gently. Pain stabbed at Gregor's heart, but only briefly. The look Boots had given him. What was she thinking in that little head of hers? Gregor found himself imagining that her worldly wisdom was outshining that of even his father.

It was at that moment that Gregor realized that he was alright with acknowledging Ares now. A year of warning looks had eventually – _finally – _made Boots stop brining the Underland up. Now, Lizzie was giving her one such look.

"_Boots_," she said emphatically, but the little girl paid her older sister no mind. Her gaze was locked with Gregor's.

Gregor felt a smile touch his lips. "Yeah, baby girl. Ares." He contorted his hands in a passable facsimile of the shape Boots was brandishing. A massive grin crept slowly onto the toddler's face, and she giggled.

"Gregor's back, Gregor's back," she sang happily, bouncing a little.

Lizzie was giving Gregor a look that was somewhere between concern and joy. She copied Boots' hands, and they had a little party of three bats on the wall, flittering here and there at will.

The batteries in the flashlight decided to die at that moment, plunging the three of them into darkness. Boots squeaked in surprise.

"Uh-oh," Gregor muttered. "I'll go get some replacements." As he stood to exit the tent, a little hand grabbed his shoulder.

"But that defeats the whole purpose! The reason we're out here is to simulate a legitimate camping trip. We wouldn't just waltz back home if our flashlight died!" Lizzie's voice was urgent. It was imperative that they not return to the house until morning.

Gregor paused, then smiled once again. It was a day full of smiles. "Alright then. Let's play a game: 'What's Outside?' I'll hear what's crawling around outside the tent and give you guys hints. Then you'll take turns guessing what it is. Okay?"

Lizzie spoke with mock dismissal, as though this were all beneath her. "Sounds simple enough."

They were able to play for a couple of hours. Gregor heard a surprising number of creatures on the ground. He didn't stop there, either. He listened underground, and even in the sky.

Eventually, they just lay there, content to be in each other's presence. When the soft breathing of a sleeping Boots sounded out, Lizzie whispered "I'm glad you're okay. I was worried for a while, but I knew you would get better."

Gregor stared into the darkness, soaking in the words of his little sister.

"I love you guys," he finally said.

Lizzie let out a tiny giggle. "We love you, t-"

Her voice was severed by the sound of a… _thing_ crashing into the top of the tent. The force of the object tore a hole in the fabric, letting in the faint light of the moon and stars overhead.

The noise caused a flare of "light" to reveal the creature to Gregor's ears. It was a little fruit bat, maybe a foot of wingspan. The tiny thing crashed into a nearby tree and collapsed. It wasn't dead. Its little heart was still beating fast as ever. In fact, the bat righted itself rather quickly, as if it had meant to land like that.

Gregor unzipped the tent and staggered out, his legs numb from disuse. He turned to where the bat was standing, and was mildly unsettled to see that it was glaring directly at him, unmoving, unblinking.

Gregor approached the creature gingerly, not wanting to startle it further. Lizzie poked her head out of the tent. "Gregor," she whispered, "what was that?"

"Just a sec, Liz," Gregor replied. His eyes had caught what his echolocation had somehow failed to "see". The bat had a tiny scrap of paper tied to its left leg.

_No, _Gregor thought. _No way. Can't be. How would they have even _found _me?! _

He knelt down in front of the bat. It still made no movement, even when Gregor slipped the note – it was a not – from the thing's leg.

"Gregor?" Lizzie sounded worried.

Her brother stood slowly, still staring uncomprehendingly at the corner of parchment the note came on. The bat took flight and headed away. It went north.

Gregor dropped the note and walked with dark conviction into the house, turning on the kitchen light and going to his parents' room to wake them. This was something he couldn't puzzle out alone.

Lizzie lunged forward and snatched the paper from the ground, fearful. That look her brother had had on his face not five seconds ago was scarier than anything Lizzie had ever seen. It was like pure malevolent intent. Whatever he planned to do, she fancied, nothing with heaven or hell would stop him.

She gazed at the dried out scrap in her hands, having no trouble reading the single word scrawled in ink, as if it were written by a madman.

It said, simply…

Help

The tip of the iron bar glowed red hot as Solovet pulled it from the fire. She stared at it with a look that was equal parts fondness and contempt. She turned back to her pretty little granddaughter, not relishing the torture she gave, but not _hating _it either.

Luxa was splayed out on the hard stone table, arms and legs fastened by leather belts. Her expression was one of blank acceptance. This was unfavorable. If she wasn't panicking, Solovet figured, she was less likely to talk.

"You know the drill by now, my sweet," Solovet said. "Speak or burn."

The queen shot her grandmother that same look of defiant loathing she had worn for quite some time. It had been many days since this form of torture had begun. Luxa seemed almost bored of it. But Solovet wasn't.

"I have told you; I do not know. I asked one of my guards to hide it away, where none would find it. I even made sure I did not know him, and had him reassigned immediately afterward." Luxa's voice was set, not trembling in the least. A feat of great courage, to be sure.

Solovet did not doubt most of what was said. A nameless, faceless guard making off with the most important prophecy in a century? She believed that. But…

"You would have me believe that you would stay ignorant of its whereabouts? Do not make me laugh!" Her eyes wandered across the girl's nearly naked body – only two folded blankets covered her – searching for a clear spot to press the iron in.

"You have been too hard on our guest, Solovet." A disgustingly cheery voice frothed into the room. Stellovet, the upstart. "Nowhere to scorch."

As unbearable as her great niece's company was, she was right. The flesh on Luxa's arms, legs, and stomach was too riddled with burn marks to make a clean addition. As cruel as the pair was, they had decided not to roam anywhere else with the iron. Perhaps if Luxa were a man…

"Indeed. Perhaps we should _change tactics._ Though, I do so like hearing the shriek of burning skin. And that of its owner." Solovet held the iron close to Luxa's face for emphasis.

Luxa's deadpan expression didn't shift an inch.

"Good luck with that," Stellovet said, turning back to the door. "I only came to tell you that the boy should be receiving the message any time now. With the superior technology of the Overland, he should be arriving within a week, with any luck."

Luxa's expression changed. "What? Who?" She knew who.

"Why, have we forgot to mention?" Stellovet lingered a moment.

"It seems we must have." Solovet peered into her granddaughter's eyes, sheer malice in her voice. "We have invited your Warrior to have a sleepover. In fact, I daresay he will not wake up."

I took a hiatus to focus on college.

Now that that's out of the way, the juicy goodness can continue.

It's time for shit to get serious. Seriously.

Only one more chapter, then the last Part will commence.

Prepare your bodies, and merry [holiday]mas.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I own neither the Underland Chronicles, nor any miscellaneous tidbits or references I may use in this piece.**

**Any and all feedback is appreciated.**

**All proceeds go to no one, because there aren't any.**

**Chapter**

**10**

Richmond was a large place. Much larger than the little town Gregor's family lived in now. That said, it was a village of lean-to's compared to New York City. Gregor peered over to the driver's seat. His father's expression was set and sad, like he was about to walk down Death Row.

"You know you don't have to come with me, Dad…" Gregor said.

"Yes I do. No way in hell am I going to let you go back there alone." His voice was scary. Gregor decided to let the issue drop there.

This was a strange situation. His father had the weekend off, and it was late Friday. But he had to be back by Sunday. Gregor would not be in the Underland for such a short time, he knew that. They both did. His father had tried to get a substitute for the class, but they were all booked up. He would just have to leave Gregor behind. They could not risk his father's job.

Hence their set-up. His father had a ticket to return in two days' time, whereas Gregor had gotten a one-way. They simply had to trust that the Museum in Regalia had enough to ensure a return flight. If not, there would be a problem.

Gregor did not bother himself with the details. He only knew one thing for sure; someone was in serious danger, and they _needed _him. With a message like that, he would let nothing stop him, even if he had to tear the ground apart to get there.

Still, his father's tone bugged him.

"I'm sorry, Dad. For dragging you back into this mess."

"I have friends there too, son."

Gregor was somewhat blindsided. He had been so engrossed in his own mind that he had not thought of what the _others _had felt about the news.

"Oh, uh, I'm sor-," he began.

"Don't you dare apologize for asking for my help with this. This is my problem as much as it is yours. Now call Cormaci and ask her if she's ready for us."

Gregor flinched at his father's intensity. Without another word, he pulled out his battered cell phone. Scrolling through the contacts, he found the number of Mrs. Cormaci. He had talked to her two days ago, asking her to place a note in the grate in the apartment building. He had also asked her, per his father's request, to procure something else. The thought made Gregor's stomach turn, but he pushed it aside as he hit the Call button.

One ring…

The two…

Three…

_Click!_

"Hello, dear." Cormaci's voice erupted from the phone.

"Hey, Mrs. Cormaci." Gregor said.

"Oh, enough with the formality, will you? Janice is fine by now, surely." She chided.

"Well, which is it," Gregor asked with a smirk, "Janice or Shirley?" His father shot him a sideways glance, but shared in the smirk.

"Oh, good heavens. Whichever you like. Everything is ready on my end." She said, flustered.

"Good. We'll be there in a few hours. See you then."

"You too. And Gregor?" Her voice was quiet, unusual for her. "Just… be calm, yes?"

I paused a moment. "Yeah. No worries. I know exactly where to put my energy."

He peered around uneasily. It was like all the people on this plane knew where they were going and what they were doing. He had to breathe through the panic. Why was he going back? This was a _terrible _idea. He did not know what he was doing… did he?

Then Haul looked over at his son in the window seat. He was doing this for that boy. Regardless of what he was feeling right now, he had to bite it all back and focus on what was important.

His fear did not matter. His anger did not matter. All that mattered was protecting his son. He remembered something his mother's father had told him long ago: "Byth yn rhoi'r gorau." "Never give up."

Well, maybe that wasn't so relevant in this particular situation, but it still gave him courage.

Haul still did not feel right leaving his son behind in the Underland just so he could come back and keep his job. But everyone, especially Gregor, had told him it was best. Whoever had sent that note had intended it for Gregor alone. Gregor had said that this was something he would have to do on his own. Even so, Haul would accompany his son there at the very least. He knew Gregor could take care of himself. The kid would not be sitting next to Haul now if he could not, but Haul wanted to make sure his son was capable of this. It would not be pretty if he broke down in the middle of his journey.

So here he was, on a two-way flight right down the mouth of hell. And he was okay with that.

Stellovet turned her nose up at the smell as she pulled the door of her cousin's cell open. She peered in to see the vile Queen in her usual position, strapped to a raised plank of stone at the far end of the room.

Why had Solovet put _her _on food duty? Was it because the old wench was jealous of her beauty? That seemed to be the most reasonable explanation. Oh well, it did not matter. Luxa was close to breaking, she could tell. Ever since they had told her that her precious Overland Warrior was returning, her resolve had weakened considerably day by day.

Stellovet avoided looking at the pile of refuse at the end of the plank. Tomorrow was wash day, when some poor servant of Solovet's would have to come in and wash away all of the unsightliness from the room. At least food duty was not as vile as _that._

"Open wide, Your Highness," Stellovet cooed, voice dripping with loathing.

Luxa's expression of stony defeat shifted not as her jaw slowly slid open.

Stellovet felt a hot embarrassment creep to her cheeks as she fed the girl on the table. Almost as if empathically sorry for her. She shook it away, fighting back the pink hue taking over her white skin. This reminded her of her time feeding Chim back home. She felt a tinge of sadness at having been estranged so horribly. Then anger at the unfairness of it all. Her whirlwind emotions raged for a time before she realized that she was more hitting Luxa in the face with her food than feeding her.

Something happened then that Stellovet had not planned for. Luxa's stern countenance devolved into one of clutching despair. As she moved her head side to side to avoid the deluge of slop prepared for her, her expression pulled back and she began to sob quietly. It was as though this unintentional torment from Stellovet had finally broken her. Tears ran down her face and little whimpers escaped her clenched teeth.

Stellovet froze, struggling to identify her current emotions. Did she feel triumphant? No… Eager? No… Remorseful?

A lump formed in Stellovet's throat. She bit back the feeling and wheeled around, half-jogging out of the room. She slammed the door to the cell and leaned against the wall. Slowly sliding down the cool stone to a sit, she felt tears run down her own face. Where had everything gone wrong? Her life had not been horrible when Luxa was a princess, or even when she had been crowned. Why did she covet the throne so much? To be the center of attention, like her Cousins had been? Is that all she wanted? Was she really so petty? Look at what had happened because of her!

She used to secretly admire Luxa's strength and grace. She used to love her cousin for it. So why did Stellovet hate her so much now?

Stellovet sat there for a long while, letting the tears flow. Eventually, she fought back her sadness. It was too late to undo her mistakes now. She would just have to—

"Having second thoughts?" A dark voice rang out. Stellovet snapped to attention. She could not see the speaker, but recognized his voice immediately.

"Minos!" Stellovet squeaked. "No, of course not. I'm just…" She wiped the tears away, unsure how to continue.

"You need not feel guilt for your actions. You are higher than that. You are to be the next Queen, yes? And I will be bonded to royalty, Yes?"

Stellovet raised her chin, a smirk to her lips. "Yes, of course. You know I would do nothing to ruin this for us. But you also know the plan."

"I do," he said shortly. There was an odd giddiness to his tone, rare for any flier.

"Before we can ascend to the throne," Stellovet began, remorse giving way to excitement, "we must put an end to my grandmother. Solovet must die."

**If I could apologize enough, I would. But I can't. So I won't.**

**Incidentally, this is the end of Part 2. 'Nother 5 chapters left. Excite.**

**Also, 10 points to anyone who can figure out why Gregor's Dad's name is Haul.**

**Have fun.**

**Oh yeah, I also realized that the formatting isn't holding up on 's end. Gonna have to futz with my style a tad. Hope it works.**


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